Chapter 27
 
Buffy woke with a start. Sometimes, a slayer’s dreams were just weird and icky. This time there had been loads of violence and floods of blood. And oddly enough, poetry.
 
She turned her head and found herself gazing into sleepy pools of blue. She brushed a tendril of hair from her face, set her head back down on his shoulder and settled her upper leg more comfortably over his thigh, absently rubbing her heated centre against him. “Morning,” she murmured.
 
“G’morning, love,” he replied. He stroked her leg then raised it as he turned onto his side to face her. It felt like the most natural thing in the world when, as their mouths met, he slipped smoothly into her and started rocking his hips slowly.
 
After a couple of minutes, Spike pulled her over on top of him. She threaded her hands into his hair to hold his head in place for her kisses, leaving him to concentrate on controlling their joining. It was slow and tender but by no means lacking in passion.
 
When her orgasm began, it didn’t crash over her in a dramatic fashion, causing her to seize up and scream as she had come to expect. It crept up on her with gentle quivers and throbs of pleasure and seemed to last for hours before Spike finally tensed and pressed her down on him as he pulsed within her. Then he relaxed, his hands going up to her hair as their mouths continued to make love to each other.
 
When she next needed to breathe, Buffy raised her head and said with a smile, “Well, that was… different. Can we do that again some day?”
 
“How about every morning? Best way to start the day.”
 
“Oh, yeah. I could so go for that.” Buffy lay still for a moment then sighed. “I wish I could stay here snuggling like this all day, but my stupid bladder won’t let me.”
 
As she carefully extricated herself from Spike and the tangled bedding, Spike asked, “What time are we due at your mum’s?”
 
“I said we’d be there by ten at the very latest.”
 
She’d done her business and was preparing to take a shower when Spike’s voice came through the closed bathroom door.
 
“Buffy, love! You might want to get a wriggle on. Your phone here says it’s already after ten!”
 
 
~*~*~*~
 
 
Buffy wrestled her socks onto her feet, thrust her feet into her boots then grabbed her hairbrush from the dashboard.
 
When Spike chuckled, she snapped, “Stop laughing, just drive!” She started struggling with a nasty snarl in her bed hair. “It’s okay for you. A pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a quick comb, boots and coat and you’re all done.”
 
Still smiling, Spike turned the car into Revello Drive. “Your mum’s a nice lady. She won’t mind us being late.”
 
“But when she agreed to the extra night, I promised!” Buffy sighed. “She’s so wonderful with Annie, doing so much more than she should have to so I can keep on with the slaying and school and stuff. I can’t help feeling like I’m taking advantage, ‘specially since she’s been so sick.”
 
“So we’ll make sure that on top of her commission, she gets to choose a pretty from the treasure for herself, by way of thank you,” Spike said. He pulled in to the kerb as close to number 1630 as he could get, considering there were more cars parked in that part of the street than usual.
 
“Oh, what a good idea! She’ll love that!” Buffy peered up into the rear view mirror but it was useless. “Is my hair okay? I can’t see.”
 
“C’m’ere,” he said, taking the brush from her hand. He swept her hair forward over her face and quickly made a parting then with a couple of swift brush strokes, arranged her hair. “There you go, love. All ship-shape and Bristol fashion.”
 
Now what was he talking about? It was sometimes as though he was speaking a totally different language. “Ship… Bristol… huh?”
 
Spike shook his head at her. “You’re gorgeous, Buffy. Come on, time to face the music.”
 
 
~*~*~*~
 
 
When Buffy opened the front door, Spike saw past her to where Joyce stood by the entrance to the dining room, making notes on some papers on a clipboard.
 
Buffy hesitantly said, “Hi, mom. Sorry…”
 
Joyce looked up. “Oh! Hi honey, is it ten already? I’m busy here, so Dawn’s been watching Annie. Could you take over? She’s bored, and a bored Annie…”
 
“Is never a good thing,” Buffy finished with a knowing look at Spike. She dropped her bag by the hall table and went into the living room. “Hi, Dawnie. Sorry to leave you holding the baby. Consider yourself relieved.”
 
“Oh thank god, Buffy. She’s being impossible and I have algebra homework to finish.”
 
Joyce continued, “And William, do you think you could put coffee on for us? I’m sure we could all do with some.” Joyce looked around the dining room and Spike became aware that several other people were present, all nodding in agreement as they looked up from examining the treasure laid out on the table and floor.
 
“Uh, of course, Joyce,” he said, bemused.
 
As Dawn thundered up the stairs and Annie started gabbling excitedly at her mother, Spike went through into the kitchen and looked around. It had been a good few years since he’d made coffee, and the last time, he’d used a percolator on a coal fired range. That method clearly wasn’t going to fly here.
 
There was a steel and glass contraption already set out on the kitchen counter. Luckily, it was easy for him to identify from having seen similar ones on TV. Now all he needed to do was figure out how it worked.
 
Cautiously, he raised the lid and peered in. It seemed straightforward enough. Water in the tank and coffee in the receptacle in the centre.
 
He slipped the jug out of the machine, filled it under the cold tap, emptied it into the tank then replaced the jug on the hotplate. He looked for the coffee, but there wasn’t any in evidence. Then he had a vague memory of watching a presenter in a TV infomercial putting a filter paper in a machine similar to this one. He couldn’t see any of those either and he didn’t think Joyce would want him to go rummaging through her cabinets.
 
He poked his head around the doorway into the dining room. “Sorry, Joyce. Need a little help here.”
 
When she came into the kitchen, Spike gestured at the machine. “I got the water in but can’t see the coffee, and what do I do about filters?”
 
Joyce shook her head, distractedly glancing over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m a little flustered this morning, I should have realised that you don’t know where anything is yet.”
 
Spike watched closely as she quickly began opening and closing cupboards and assembling the required items then with a practiced hand, got the coffee machine going. Once it was making reassuring gurgling and plopping sounds, she opened another cupboard and took out a number of mugs which she arranged on the counter. Then she turned to face him and leant back against the sink with a weary sigh.
 
She waved her hand in the general direction of the dining room. “I made a few calls yesterday, reaching out to my contacts to ask for help with cataloguing and valuing the treasure. I never expected all of them to turn up first thing this morning, raring to go!”
 
Spike chuckled. “The irresistible allure of the word treasure.”
 
“I guess that’s what is must have been.”
 
Buffy appeared around the corner from the living room. “Do I hear coffee in the making?”
 
Joyce smiled at her. “Yes, honey. Do I take it that you’d like a cup?”
 
“Please. I overslept and didn’t get a chance to have any yet.”
 
Annie had an arm wrapped around her mother’s leg. She swung around and peeked shyly at Spike “Mine daddy!” she said in wonderment. “Daddy play?”
 
Spike winked down at her. “In a sec, kitten. I’m just talking with your grandma for a minute. Okay?”
 
“’kay.” Her wide eyes swept the kitchen and fixed on the cups set out ready on the counter. “Chock lit, gamma?” she asked eagerly.
 
“Of course, sweetie.”
 
With a happy little squeal, Annie tugged Buffy back into the living room, just giving her mother time to direct a helpless roll of her eyes at Spike.
 
When Joyce turned to get out a pan, milk and the chocolate mix, she said, “I guess I’d better make enough for Dawn too. She’d never forgive me if Annie got hot chocolate and she didn’t!” She sent a knowing look Spike’s way. “And I don’t think I need to ask if you’d like some too?”
 
Spike smiled and shrugged. “Human or vamp, I never could resist cocoa. ‘Specially with the little marshmallows on top.”
 
“Well, these are all for you then,” Joyce said, taking a partly used packet from a high cupboard. “Dawn doesn’t like them and I can’t put them in Annie’s because they clog up the mouthpiece on her sippy cup.”
 
When she’d reached up for the marshmallows, her hair had fallen back and Spike had spotted the bare patch at Joyce’s temple where a short fuzz of hair was just beginning to grow back over her surgery site. He tapped his own temple and asked, “How’s it going? All sorted now?”
 
Joyce’s smile was glorious. “Oh yes! It was sore at first, of course, but I haven’t had a single headache since the operation. Such a relief. The doctor made an appointment for me to have a follow-up CAT scan, just to check that everything’s healed properly. It’s supposed to be tomorrow morning actually, but I’m feeling so well, I think I’ll call first thing and cancel it.”
 
Spike cocked his head to one side in consideration. “Is that wise? In my human days, any kind of surgery was a chancy proposition, and when I think they actually cut into your brain…” he shuddered. “I reckon if the doc planned to check you over, he thought he needed to.”
 
“You really think so? Well, Dawn does have school tomorrow, and Buffy has class in the morning so Annie will be at crèche…” She gave a little shrug. “Perhaps I’ll go after all. I guess it can’t do any harm.”
 
 
~*~*~*~
 
 
While kneeling beside Annie’s bed, watching closely to be sure that their daughter was genuinely asleep at last, Buffy clearly heard Spike saying, “How could this adorable child have come from me? I still don’t get it. She’s a miracle! How can I possibly live up to that? I’m bound to bugger it all up sooner or later.”
 
Buffy silently stood and tip-toed towards the open door where Spike was silhouetted against the landing light. She gently pushed him back so that she could close the door. “Shh… I know exactly how you feel,” she whispered. “I worry about that too. I’ve had her for two years next month, and I still haven’t got used to the fact that I’m her mommy and they trust me to take care of her.”
 
Spike stammered, “Huh? Buffy, how…
 
Buffy stretched up and cut off whatever he was going to say by planting a kiss on his lips.
 
She stroked his cheek, murmuring, “We’re so lucky. For once, something of the good came out of my slayerness.”
 
Spike suddenly cocked his head to one side, a sure sign that he was listening to something.
 
All Buffy could hear was the soft murmur of voices and then the front door opening and after a few moments closing again. She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.
 
“Sounds like the last of the treasure seeking hordes leaving, love. And if I’m not mistaken, the watcher arrived at the same time.”
 
“Giles?” Buffy grabbed Spike’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs. “I wonder what he wants.”
 
At the foot of the stairs, Joyce stood clutching her clipboard to her chest as she greeted Giles. As one, they looked up as Buffy and Spike descended.
 
“Oh, there you are, Buffy,” Giles said. He held up the jewelled daggers. “I thought I’d bring these over to add to the rest of the treasure. As it happens, immediately I saw them, they rang a vague bell. It gave me a place to start researching. It didn’t take long to identify them because they’re well documented until they were lost sometime in the seventeenth century. They were commissioned by a prosperous Venetian merchant in the thirteenth century. Fine, best quality Toledo steel with jewelled hilts and sheaths.”
 
“But… the magic Tara saw?”
 
“Quite harmless. It’s merely a stay-sharp charm. It’s quite fortunate really. The blades kept their fine edges through the centuries after the weapons became separated from their sheaths. Even so, they should still have considerable commercial value, particularly as they’re a matched pair. Unless you wish to keep them for yourself?”
 
“No thanks, I have enough daggers.” She patted her stomach where the little wooden figurine was safely tucked into the kangaroo pocket of her hoody. “I have what I want, my little wooden woman.”
 
“In that case, Giles,” put in Joyce, “they should go in here with the rest.” She gestured towards the dining room. “It’s a shame my weapons expert has just left, but the provisional date we’ve agreed for the auction isn’t until next month, so there’s plenty of time yet.”
 
Buffy followed Giles and her mother into the dining room, where Joyce carefully nudged a couple of items aside to make space on the table for the daggers.
 
“Goodness!” Giles said. “I didn’t know there was so much!” He slowly walked around the table, deftly stepping over the larger items on the floor, occasionally picking up something to examine more closely. When he came to the statuette of the warrior woman, he came to a dead stop and his face drained of colour.
 
He picked it up and slowly turned it in trembling hands. “Can it possibly be…?” he murmured. “Dear lord, I believe it is! Buffy, have you any idea who is depicted here?”
 
“Uh… actually, no. But I have her older, chunkier twin here.” She produced the small figure from her pocket and held it up. “She feels like mine.”
 
Giles glanced at it and his mouth fell open. After a moment, he gave himself a little shake and said, “That’s because she is yours, Buffy.” He looked back and forth between the two figures and said, “I can’t believe you have both of them! It’s remarkable! They’ve been lost for so very long. It was thought they’d been destroyed centuries ago.” He staggered slightly. “I’m sorry, I think I may need to sit down.”
 
Joyce took him by the arm and led him into the living room, guiding him to the armchair.
 
Consumed with curiosity, Buffy followed and sat on the couch facing him. Spike settled beside her and took her hand.
 
Joyce perched the other side of Buffy and asked, “You know who it is? None of my contacts could put a name to her.”
 
Giles put his handkerchief back in his pocket, replaced his spectacles on his nose and held up the statuette to face them. He took a deep breath. “Buffy, I’d like to introduce Sinara, the patron goddess of the slayer line. This one,” he indicated the one he was holding, “was traditionally entrusted to the watcher of the active slayer while the one you hold… well, that is yours by right for the duration of your term as the slayer.”
 
Buffy was struck dumb.
 
Giles turned to Joyce. “Joyce, I’m afraid I must insist that neither figurine is included in the catalogue for the forthcoming auction. Buffy will naturally keep the original, and I’ll hang on to this one.”
 
“Worth a bit then, are they?” Spike asked suspiciously.
 
“Utterly beyond price,” Giles said. A mischievous expression crossed his features and he held up the tall statuette. “In fact, since this one was commissioned by the Watchers’ Council, centuries ago, to be the watcher’s companion to the ancient original, and I am only officially entitled to hold it while I supervise an active slayer, I have no doubt that they’ll pay whatever you demand to reacquire it. They’ll do anything so that they have the right to reclaim it and pass it to the next active watcher.” He turned to address Joyce. “However much you ask.”
 
“Oh, how very tempting,” Joyce said with a matching smirk. “At last I have a way of getting back at that insufferable toad who was in charge of that murderous… test on poor Faith’s eighteenth birthday.”
 
Giles suddenly laughed. “Indeed! Oh, how I wish I could see old Quentin’s face when learns of this. Every graduating class at the Watchers’ Academy receives a lecture about them and is charged with bringing them back into the fold. Since Quentin’s grandfather’s time in the Academy, each member of the Travers family has made no secret of the fact that their life’s quest is to locate both of the figures and restore them to their rightful places. And you, Buffy, with all your unorthodox methods which so infuriate the council, have found them! Travers will have a fit!”
 
Buffy grinned back. “We found them, Giles. You’re the one who recognised them. Feel free to go into full gloat mode.” Fondly caressing her little wooden friend, she asked, “Sinara? Isn’t that what the First Slayer was called?”
 
“Uh, no, Buffy. The First Slayer’s name was Sineya. According to the legend, Sinara was the warrior goddess of her tribe and the child was named in her honour. When she was called, Sineya adopted Sinara as her own personal patroness and took possession of the focus from her family shrine, which you are holding. The goddess has been linked with the slayer line ever since.”
 
Buffy pondered. She had instantly accepted the sense of familiarity and belonging she’d experienced the first time she’d held the small figure, but she’d never thought to consider the implications.
 
She was so preoccupied, she barely registered her mother asking Spike to fetch something, then hardly felt him leaving her side and returning.
 
She was startled out of her introspection a few minutes later when her mother cried out.
 
“Oh my god!”
 
Buffy looked up to see her mother toss her calculator onto the coffee table and gape down at the papers in her lap.
 
“Mom?”
 
Joyce looked up wide-eyed and swallowed hard. “Take a guess at the estimate we’ve reached for the minimum sum we could raise from auctioning off the treasure. That’s from conservative estimates for reserve prices, not including what we might be able to get out of the Council for the statuettes, or anything which can be raised from the magical items you have, Giles.”
 
Buffy tried to think of an optimistic figure that might justify her mother’s reaction. She offered, “A hundred thousand dollars?”
 
Joyce turned to Giles with raised eyebrows.
 
“Two hundred thousand?” he suggested with a shrug.
 
When she looked at Spike, he said, “I’ll go with two-fifty.”
 
Joyce swallowed again and took a deep breath. “Try close to a million dollars. At least!”
 
In the ensuing shocked silence, Dawn clattering down the stairs sounded as though the house was falling down.
 
“I finished my book and looked up, saw it was dark and realised I was starving! What’s for dinner?” When nobody answered her immediately, she looked around anxiously. “What’s wrong? Why all the turned-to-stone impressions?”
 
Joyce blinked and gave her head a little shake. “Nothing’s wrong, Punkinbelly. We’ve just had a shock, that’s all.” Dawn looked even more worried and she quickly added, “A good shock. Uh, I haven’t had a spare moment to think about dinner. Would take-out be okay with you?”
 
“Pizza?” Dawn instantly asked. “I can make the call!”
 
When her mother nodded her approval, Buffy said, “Pizza’s fine with me. Mine’s a Pepperoni with extra cheese.” Sending her sister a warning glare, she added emphatically, “No anchovies.”
 
“Giles, have you eaten?” Joyce asked. “Would you like to stay?”
 
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Joyce,” he said, getting to his feet. “I really should make a call to England about the figurines, and I still have a lot of research to do. I’ll have something at home with my books.”
 
“Well, if you’re sure…” Joyce accompanied him to the front door to see him out as Dawn made a bee-line for the phone.
 
Buffy snuggled up against Spike. “We’re gonna be rich,” she quietly said. “Can you believe it?”
 
Spike kissed the top of her head. “Gonna have your pick of houses, love. Better start checking the property pages.”
 
Buffy grinned. “I’ll get Tara on the case with me. This is gonna be so much fun!” She glanced up at Spike through her lashes and added guiltily, “But you can have the final say. Is that okay with you?”
 
Spike chuckled. “I’ll be fine with whatever makes you ladies happy, love. Now I have the gem, you don’t even have to consider big windows and sunny rooms, or sewer access.”
 
“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” she said with a happy smile.
 
“Why don’t you pick yourself a pretty, love?” he asked. “Now we know we can spare it.” He leant close and murmured, “I know you fancy that tiara.”
 
Buffy spluttered a laugh. “When would I ever get to wear a tiara?”
 
“Well, at least pick something to keep for the babe.”
 
“Oh. That’s different. I’ll think about it.”
 
Dawn came and plopped down in the arm chair opposite and announced. “The pizza’s on its way. Now tell me what’s going on.”
 
“Speaking of Tara…” Buffy looked her sister over. “Did she come over to…”
 
“Yeah, yeah.” Dawn pulled at the neckline of her shirt to reveal a ribbon suspending a familiar-looking muslin pouch. “She was here when I got up. I’m all protected against Evil Willow and her runaway magic. So’s mom. It’s about freaking time too!”
 
Buffy slumped back in relief. “Oh, thank god. Don’t forget, keep it in contact with your skin and never take it off. And when you shower…”
 
“I know, I know!” Dawn giggled. “I get to legally use condoms!” She leant forward with her elbows on her knees and glared at Buffy. ”So, spill! What was with all the shockiness?”


A/N
In the timeline of this story, Buffy was heavily pregnant at the time of her 18th birthday, and on maternity leave from active slayer duties. She was not therefore subjected to the Cruciamentum.

According to the Buffy wikia, Faith was born on December 14th 1980. Other sources cite the year 1982. Upon investigation, I discovered that both dates are mere speculation since as far as I can discover, no definitive canon birthdate has ever been given for her.

Given Faith’s sexual activities during S3, and her stories of her previous behaviour, for the purposes of this story I have chosen to accept 1980 as accurate. This means that Faith turned 18 in December 1998, shortly before Buffy.

Since during Buffy’s pregnancy Faith was the active slayer, with a watcher who habitually stuck to the rules, (because early Wesley) she underwent the test instead.